


Restless in Ripon

by QuinTalon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Because Scorpius thinks they are MFEO, Draco is Sad, Draco is a good dad, Dramione Romcom Fest, F/M, Hermione is lonely, It's sad at first but I promise it gets happier, Made For Each Other, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Romance, Scorpius is about to change all that, Widower Draco, inspired by Sleepless in Seattle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinTalon/pseuds/QuinTalon
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy wants his father to be happy again and as his grandfather often told him, a Malfoy always gets what he wants.A nosy radio host, well-meaning friends, and fate will help bring two lonely souls together. Well, that and one tenacious eight-year-old.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 73
Kudos: 128
Collections: Dramione RomCom Fest





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to NuclearNik for being the best beta a gal could ask for and to mcal for all her encouragement. I love you ladies to pieces.
> 
> This fic is inspired by Sleepless in Seattle.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, they just were kind enough to help me tell this story.
> 
> **Trigger warning for Chapter One: This chapter deals with the death of a parent and spouse.**

* * *

* * *

**Friday, May 9, 2009**

The warm rays of the sun shone through the window, brightening the room within and casting a long shadow of the man staring out. His posture was rigid, hands firmly clasped behind his back. The warmth and light were in sharp contrast to the swirling coldness of despair within him.

His eyes focused on a butterfly as it flitted from flower to flower, graceful and free. A gentle breeze flowed through the trees and birds merrily chirped in reply. It was a beautiful day.

His mind lingered on that fact. 

How wrong it seemed that today be such a lovely day. It was the type of day they would normally spend out in the garden or strolling through town. Memories of picnics and wading in ponds and stolen kisses and laughter—so much laughter—flooded his thoughts, nearly overwhelming him.

But instead of spending the day in the sun, Draco Malfoy had buried his wife. His young son at his side, he had watched as she was interred in the family mausoleum, his heart remaining with her in the dark.

Voices murmured around him, hushed and solemn. He paid them no mind. Not that he cared for such things at the moment, but he was sure those here to pay their respects to his wife would excuse him from the normal niceties today. He knew his mother would take care of things in his place. His only concern today was Scorpius, and his son was currently tucked away in bed, exhausted in his grief. Draco envied him somewhat—he had not slept much since it happened.

He closed his eyes against the image of her lying so still, so pale against the sheets.

A gentle hand on his shoulder stirred him from the memory that would forever be burned into his brain.

“You should eat something. Please.” 

Draco blinked down into the concerned eyes of his sister-in-law—blue eyes so similar to _hers_. 

“Come now, I’ll get you a plate.” Sliding her arm around his, Daphne steered him towards the closest chair and guided him to sit. 

She was back moments later, a plate laden with a vast array of food in one hand and a tumbler of what he hoped was firewhisky in the other. Placing the plate firmly in his grasp, she took the seat next to him and watched pointedly until he took a bite, tasting nothing and chewing mechanically. It was not until he had forced down a few more bites that she handed him the drink.

“I need to take Mother home soon, but I’ll be back this evening. Theo can stay here with you, if you’d like.”

Draco shook his head. “No, thank you. We’ll be fine, Daph. I just… I’d like to spend some time with Scorpius.”

Daphne nodded and gave him a watery smile, gripping his hand tightly. “Okay. Whatever you need. We’ll be by for tea tomorrow, though. Until then, Floo if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

  
  


**June 26, 2009**

“Mate, we’re just worried about you.” Theo’s voice was strained, concern and frustration laced through his tone. “You stopped showing up for work, we rarely hear from you, and you smell like you slept in a distillery.”

Draco continued to stare at the wall, pointedly ignoring his friend and brother-in-law.

“I know you’re hurting. We’re all hurting. And honestly, if it weren’t for my nephew, I’d leave you to it for a while yet. But your son needs you. You lost your wife, and Scorpius lost his mother.” Theo sighed loudly. “Astoria would not want this for you.”

Draco clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he bit out, “Do _not_ talk to me about what my wife would want.”

Theo raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to provoke you. I’m concerned. You seemed to be handling things well and then you suddenly stopped showing up. Your son has been staying with his grandmother for two weeks while you’ve apparently been attempting to single-handedly drink the contents of your wine cellar.” He ran a hand over his face, looking tired. “Please, mate. Talk to me.”

They sat in silence for countless minutes, the only sound in the room was the _tick tick tick_ of the clock on the mantle. When Draco spoke, it was in a soft voice, and Theo had to strain to hear him.

“I was digging through my desk, looking for some ink when I found a note. Just a silly little note wishing me a good day. She used to do that, you know. Leave me notes. I’d find them all over the house: in a book, on my nightstand, under my dinner plate. I once found one in my sock drawer, of all places. They were never long, just a few words letting me know she was thinking of me, that she loved me.”

Draco took a shuddering breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “I stared at that note and it just overwhelmed me. She’s gone. My wife is dead and she’ll never write me another note. I-I lost it. Thank Merlin Scorpius was visiting my mother for the afternoon. I tore my office apart and I…” Voice breaking, Draco struggled to breathe as his grief welled and threatened to drown him once more.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder, a gesture of comfort that helped ground him. Gulping for air, Draco rasped out, “I had been so hyper-focused on Scorp, so worried about him, so determined to be there for him that I never let myself think about anything else. I didn’t let myself think of _her_ . But that little scrap of parchment tore me apart. I can barely say her name, but there it was in her handwriting and I just…” A broken sob tore through him. “She had drawn hearts around it. _I hope you have a wonderful day, darling. I love you, Astoria._ I don’t think I will ever forget those words now; I’ve stared at them so much.”

He pulled the wrinkled parchment from his pocket, showing it to Theo. Ignoring the sniffling he heard behind him, Draco ran a finger over the words like he had a hundred times before in the past two weeks. He fought back a hysterical laugh at the sight of it, the idea that such a simple thing broke him. A handful of words on a bit of parchment brought down the mighty Draco Malfoy.

* * *

  
  


**August 2, 2009**

“Auntie Daphne!”

The excited squeal carried through the entry hall, up the stairs, and in through the open door of the study. With an indulgent smile and a shake of his head, Draco stood from his chair and went to greet his sister-in-law.

He found her squeezing his son to her tightly, swinging him back and forth, both laughing merrily. Theo stood far enough away to be out of danger of the little feet flying wildly. 

Draco greeted him, saying, “Good to see you, mate,” as they shook hands. “I see your wife has already found her favorite nephew.”

“I’m her _only_ nephew, Dad!”

Grinning as Scorpius slid to the floor, Daphne dropped a kiss to his head. “Ah, but you are still my favorite!”

“Auntie Daphne, will you play with me? I got a new toy, and you just _have_ to see it!”

Daphne chuckled and held out her hand, taking his smaller one. “Alright then. Lead the way!” She waved over her shoulder as the six year old dragged her up the stairs.

“I see how it is,” Theo called after them. “Not even a hello for your poor uncle.”

Without turning around. Scorpius hollered back, “Oh, yeah. Hi, Uncle Theo!”

Draco smiled as he watched them, relishing all the moments Scorpius was happy. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he peered at Theo from the corner of his eye. “Suppose we should find something to do while they have a grand time without us.”

Theo crossed his arms and nodded. “I suppose we should.” 

Their eyes met and both wizards grinned widely. “Cake?”

“Cake.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated in the kitchen enjoying slices of decadent dark chocolate cherry cake.

“Merlin,” Theo moaned around his fork. “Jipsey makes the best cakes.”

Draco hummed in agreement as he scraped the last of the frosting from his plate.

A small house-elf in a lovely purple dress popped up next to them. “Can Jipsey gets you or Mr. Theo anything else, Master?”

“No, thank you. I think we’re good here.”

With a nod and a snap, Jipsey left the men to their tea and cake.

Taking a sip to wash down his last bite, Theo leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. He looked at his closest friend thoughtfully. “How are you doing?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair. “I’m… dealing. Doing the best I can.” He looked across the table. “I’m not slipping back, if that’s your concern.”

Theo shook his head. “No, it’s not. I trusted you when you promised to reach out if it got bad again.” He tilted his head. “But, I can see that you’re not doing as well as you pretend to be.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are. And there is no pressure and no timetable for this. You take the time you need. You do what you need to in order to heal.”

Draco nodded, his eyes focusing on the crumbs left on his plate. “I just… Everything reminds me of her. I can’t walk into a room without seeing something she bought or loved or hell, even things she hated. I nearly broke down after staring at that gaudy sculpture of a peacock for over an hour the other day, all because I remembered how much she hated it and how she always threatened to accidentally break it, just to annoy Father.” He looked into his friend’s eyes, hoping he would understand. “I need a change. I can’t function here anymore.”

“What, like get a flat in town?”

“I was thinking of a cottage outside Ripon.”

Theo blinked slowly. “Ripon.”

Studying the wood grain on the table, Draco nodded. “It has a nicely sized magical community there. I’ve done some inquiries and they have everything we could need: a small shopping lane, parks, even a highly accredited tutor for Scorpius.” He turned and met Theo’s eyes. “I think I could find a measure of peace there, Theo.”

“Right. Will the cottage have a guest room? I’ll expect an invitation to visit soon.”

Draco sighed with a tired smile. “Thank you, Theo.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet, mate. I don’t envy you when Daphne finds out.”

With a snort, Draco nodded.

* * *

**August 19, 2009**

His hand slowly ran across the cold marble, tracing the engraving as his fingertips dipped into the grooves, feeling the change from smooth to rough over and over.

_Astoria Malfoy_

_January 12, 1982 - May 4, 2009_

_Beloved Wife, Mother, and Daughter_

_“You were my light”_

“Hello, love.” Draco kissed his fingertips and pressed them to her name.

“I have some news to share. I finalized the paperwork yesterday. Scorp and I are moving to Ripon next month. I found a nice little cottage just outside the city on a good-sized piece of land. It’s beautiful there. Peaceful. You would love it.” Draco sighed and leaned his forehead against the stone.

“I miss you so much, Astoria. Some days I can barely breathe. But I’m doing as you asked. I’m trying to live each day to the fullest with Scorpius. Our son is amazing. Brave. Strong. Just like you. We talk of you every night. Do you remember that picture I took of you two last year when we went to Venice? He’s looking at the water, watching the ripples from the gondola and you...” 

Choking on a sob, Draco turned his face, pressing his cheek to the marble. His eyes focused on _Astoria,_ his fingers tracing her name once more.

“You were smiling at me, and I snapped a picture to capture the moment. Scorpius has a copy of it on his nightstand and he kisses it every night before he gets into bed. He misses you, love. We both miss you.” He closed his eyes, the gathered tears slipping beneath his lashes and trailing slowly down his cheek.

“I think a change will be good for both of us. Help us heal.”

Wiping his face, Draco stepped back and took a deep breath. The ache inside had not diminished—he didn’t think it ever would—but a sense of calmness overcame him. He knew he was making the right decision, and he suspected his wife, wherever she was, thought so too.

“I love you, Astoria. Now and always.”

With one last look, he turned and walked back into the afternoon sun.

* * *

  
  


**September 6, 2009**

“Well, what do you think?”

Hand on his son’s shoulder, Draco stood in front of his new home. 

The cottage was picturesque, nestled on the top of a hill surrounded by green fields and bordered by a copse of trees. It was larger than a typical country cottage yet significantly smaller than what both Malfoy men were accustomed to. 

Where Malfoy Manor boasted countless bedrooms, parlors, a ballroom, and grand dining room, Chartreux Cottage, as it had come to be called, was modest with four bedrooms, a study, a small library, a sitting room, a dining room, and adequately-sized kitchen.

The outside was rough gray stone, ivy growing on one side. Blue hydrangeas lined the front of the house, the shrubs weighted down with the blooms.

Scorpius shrugged. “S’alright, I guess.”

Draco smiled and leaned down. “Just alright? Well then, I suppose the new broom I just bought and the fact that the fields are just the right size for practicing Quidditch won’t interest you at all. Shame that.”

Spinning around so quickly he nearly stumbled, Scorpius peered up at his father with wide, hopeful eyes. “New broom?”

In a few short weeks, the youngest Malfoy would be turning seven, a much-celebrated occasion in wizarding families. Not only was it a powerful magical number, it was also the age by which most children would have shown their magical potential. It was customary for many young witches and wizards to receive their first actual broom as well as a blessing from the family to commemorate the event.

Unable to contain his own excitement, Draco grinned widely. “Happy early birthday, Son.”

He waved his wand towards the porch, releasing the concealment charm on the new Firebolt II he had placed there. The broom was visible for mere seconds before Scorpius was sprinting towards it.

“My first real broom!” He skidded to stop and ran his hand over the smooth wood reverently. Turning back to Draco, Scorpius bounced giddily on the balls of his feet. “No more training brooms? I can actually fly like you, Dad?”

Joining his son on the porch, Draco nodded. “No more training brooms. This does have some additional safety charms on it, so you can’t go too high yet, and you are not allowed to fly without me there. But we can practice every day if you’d like.”

Scorpius threw his arms tightly around Draco and squeezed. “Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much!”

Draco returned the hug and bent down to kiss the top of his son’s head. “You’re welcome, Scorp.” 

They stepped apart, and Draco smirked. “Want to give it a go?”

He silently _Accio_ ’d his own broom, the wood smacking into his outstretched hand. “I’ll race you.”

With a laugh, Draco took off toward the field at a jog, Scorpius following close behind.

* * *

  
  


**September 28, 2009**

Exhausted from the day but unable to sleep, Draco lay in his bed staring at the dark ceiling above. It was Scorpius’s seventh birthday, and they had spent the day celebrating with friends and family.

Scorpius had finally crashed an hour ago after too much sugar and running at full speed all day. He had been in high spirits, only murmuring that he hoped his mother had seen what a fun day he’d had moments before falling asleep.

Draco closed his eyes, recalling visions of his lovely wife, wishing she had been there to celebrate with them. Flashes of other birthday celebrations flickered through his mind, those happy moments filled with her smile and laughter and warm presence. 

With a huff, Draco rolled to his side, his eyes on the empty space where she used to sleep. For years, no matter where they were—at home or on holiday or visiting friends—Astoria had filled in the other half of the bed they slept in. Always within reach, always willing to be held or to hold him, always _there_.

Silent tears wet the pillow beneath his cheek. Would it always feel like this, he wondered? Would this empty ache, this persistent painful longing ever diminish? Would he ever be able to look at that void beside him and not drown in his mourning?

Moving from the Manor had helped. He was able to go hours—sometimes even half a day—without the crushing reminder of his loss. 

Draco spent his days focusing on his son, teaching him to fly and encouraging him in his studies. The tutor came by daily for a few hours and allowed Draco to retreat to his study to take care of business matters. 

Yes, most days he was fine. But the nights… The nights were when he dwelled on his memories, on his loss, on _her_.

Grabbing the unused pillow next to him, Draco buried his face in it and let his grief overtake him.

* * *

  
  


**December 6, 2009**

Draco stood, hands on his hips, surveying his work. The sitting room was dripping with Christmas decorations. A garland strewn with lights ran along the circumference of the room at the ceiling, while Santas and reindeer and snowmen replaced the usual decor on the side table and mantle. A too-large-for-the-space tree sat in the corner, fully decorated with ornaments, tinsel, lights, and the star tree topper he bought Astoria for their first Christmas together.

She had loved Christmas, always eager to start the decorations each year. She would probably have put them up the day after Halloween if he’d allowed it. She always managed to make the holiday joyous and warm.

Expecting Scorpius home soon from spending the day with his Gran and Gramps, as the Greengrasses insisted he call them, Draco took one last walkthrough of the house. 

He had put decorations in every room, including the kitchen and loo. He knew he was over-compensating, but Draco couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want Scorpius to lose that sense of wonder he had every year now that his mother was not there to create it.

Nodding that everything was in place, Draco made sure the small tree he intended to surprise Scorpius with was still hidden under the Disillusionment Charm in the corner of the boy’s bedroom. He planned for the two of them to decorate it together later that night.

The look of delight on Scorpius’s face when he arrived home let Draco know he had made the right decision.

As he scooped up his giggling son, Draco felt for the first time that maybe they would be alright.

* * *

**January 12, 2010**

_Twenty-eight. She would have been twenty-eight today._

Draco’s head pressed against the edge of the mattress as he took another drink, his mood darkening further as he thought of all the birthdays she would not get to see. All the celebrations and milestones and quiet moments that she was robbed from experiencing.

He had made an attempt to keep Scorpius’s mind off the fact that today was his mother’s birthday, the first since her passing. Despite his efforts, the day passed quietly, both father and son morose but trying to not show it to the other. 

Draco’s heart had broken at the sound of the muffled sniffles coming from his son’s room after he went to bed. He had sat outside his door until he heard the soft snuffling noises Scorpius always made in his sleep.

He had then retreated to his own room and spent the last few hours finding solace in the ever-reliable Master Odgen's.

The firewhisky burned his throat as he tipped the bottle back once more. He closed his eyes against that familiar longing and ache as it overwhelmed him.

_She would have been twenty-eight._

The half-empty bottle smashed against the stone of the fireplace, some of the liquor splashing into the fire and making it expand angrily for a moment. 

Draco was glad he had the foresight to cast a silencing charm on his room as he watched the light of the fire dance across the pool of amber liquid and broken glass.

* * *

**March 23, 2010**

“Mum!”

Draco startled awake, grabbing his wand and looking around the room for whatever dragged him from his sleep.

“Mum. Mummy!”

_Scorpius. Another nightmare._

In a flash, Draco was out of bed and down the hall, pushing open his son’s bedroom door.

Scorpius lay tangled in his sheets, his white-blond hair sticking to his forehead. His face was wet from sweat and tears, and Draco’s heart broke. 

A heartrending sob tore from his son’s throat, and Draco dropped to his knees beside the bed. 

Running his hand gently through Scorpius’s hair, Draco quietly coaxed him awake. “Scorpius, ssh. You’re okay, I’m here. Ssh, son. It’s okay.”

Red-rimmed eyes blinked open, the confusion of first waking still evident. Scorpius shifted closer to his father, his eyes finally focusing. With a whimper, he launched himself into Draco’s arms.

Scorpius clung to him as his sobbed, broken words muttered into his chest. “Dad—Mummy—miss her—”

Draco sat on the floor, cradling his son in his lap, rocking them back and forth as he ran his hand up and down Scorpius’s back. “I’m here, Scorpius. I’m here.”

* * *

**May 16, 2010**

Draco stood at the window, watching Scorpius in the back garden showing his Aunt Daphne his newest accomplishment on his broom. He weaved through the air doing tight figure eights, staying a few feet off the ground.

Hushed voices drifted in from the hall and Draco chose not to acknowledge them.

“It’s been a year, Theo.”

“He needs time.”

“I know, but he’s holding on. It’s tearing him apart.”

“He’s been better since they moved here. You didn’t see how bad it got before, Blaise.”

“No, but I’ve seen how hollow he looks now.”

A sigh. “I know, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Maybe I’ll see if he’s ready to come back to work.”

“That might be good for him. He’s been taking on more from here, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he has. But being in the office, getting out of the house a bit more, that might do him some good.”

Theo hummed in agreement, and Blaise spoke up again, quieter this time but Draco was still able to hear. “And maybe I can introduce him to some nice witches. He’s got to be… pent up, if you know what I mean.”

Draco rolled his eyes and held in an aggravated groan. Without turning, he spoke. “You know I can hear you tossers, right?”

He heard a squeak that he knew to be a loose floorboard just outside the entrance to the room, and he turned to see his friends hovering in the doorway, looking a touch sheepish and wary. 

Draco sighed.

“Look. I know you lot are worried about me and I appreciate it. I’ve been thinking of coming back to work, part-time for now. Just a few hours a day while Scorpius is with his tutor. Mother agreed to come over as well.”

Blaise nodded and flashed a smile. “It’ll be nice to have you back in the office.”

Draco nodded. While annoyed with his friend at the moment, he was truly grateful to him. Blaise had stepped in and taken over as much of Draco’s workload as he could, sending the rest over to him at home. It had relieved at least one stress from Draco’s life, allowing him to focus more on Scorpius. 

“And as for your other _suggestion_ …” Draco shook his head. “I’m not interested.”

“But—” 

Draco cut him off with a growl. “ _No_.”

Theo bravely stepped into the room, ever the diplomat ready to ease the growing tension. “Don’t be angry with us, mate. We just want you to be happy. What Blaise was trying to say in the worst way possible—”

“Hey!”

“—is that at some point, you may want to start seeing women. Date again.”

Draco scoffed. “Right. Date. And then what, I’ll suddenly be fine and happy and forget my wife? Somehow, my shriveled heart will miraculously be whole again?”

Theo paled. “That's not—”

His anger seeping from him and leaving him feeling exhausted, Draco sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…” He looked away, not able to meet either of their eyes. “It doesn’t happen twice.”

* * *

  
  


**May 18, 2010**

Draco ignored the whispers and sympathetic gazes as he slowly made his way to his office at Malfoy Investments for the first time in over a year, head held high. 

He was used to eyes following him and conversations halting as he drew closer. Used to the looks and hissed words. Used to dodging hexes and spit.

But he was not used to this. People offering their sympathy, showing compassion. Not used to people being _glad_ to see him. 

_Welcome back, Mr. Malfoy._

_It’s good to see you, Mr. Malfoy._

Unsure how to respond, Draco merely nodded his head in acknowledgment.

He made it to his office, leaning hard against the door once it closed, nearly overwhelmed by the unexpected welcome. 

Draco forced himself to walk to his desk and focus on the paperwork waiting for him. He could do this. He could get back into the routine of coming in, interacting with people, taking care of the minutia required to run a business.

Minutes later, his secretary Lidia knocked on his door. She smiled as she entered, that hesitant "So sorry for your loss" smile he’d seen on too many faces today. “Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. I just wanted to let you know how happy we are to see you back in the office. Can I get you a coffee or some tea? Anything at all, just let me know.”

Draco shook his head and thanked her for the offer, trying to hide his discomfort. He didn’t want to be pitied, didn’t want people to look at him and only see the poor, sad man who lost his wife.

He was healing, and he was getting better, but the walls of his office were beginning to close in on him. 

It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. He needed more time. 

Forcing a stop to his racing thoughts, Draco determinedly went back to his paperwork, resolved to stay for at least a few hours.

He left an hour later.

* * *

  
  


**December 24, 2010**

Leaning against the doorframe, Draco watched his son sleep. He always felt Scorpius looked younger as he slept, having a hard time acknowledging the fact that his boy was now eight and no longer that sweet little lump of a baby he once held.

Scorpius shifted, his head snuggling further into the pillow, a soft smile on his face. Draco hoped he was having a pleasant dream. His nightmares came seldomly now, most nights passing quietly.

Draco still struggled to sleep a full night, but things were slowly improving for him as well.

He was back in the swing of things at work, spending a full morning there everyday and coming home to Scorpuis for lunch. They spent their afternoons together, sometimes flying, sometimes going into town. Often they sat together in the study, Scorpius doing his homework and Draco working through whatever paperwork he brought home.

He had even started going out with Blaise and Theo a few nights a month, like he used to. Before.

Life was slowly becoming brighter and Draco had the hope that the new year would be a happy one.

* * *

  
  


**June 5, 2011**

Cries of _happy birthday_ filled the room, the loudest coming from the youngest attendee.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!”

Draco smiled at the people gathered around the table—friends and family, those most important to him. Taking a breath, he blew out the candles, his mind briefly sending a blast of love to his wife, wherever she was. 

He laughed at the raucous applause from his son and Blaise as everyone else clapped at a normal level.

“Can we eat the cake now?” Scorpius bounced on his toes, his eyes focused on the decadent chocolate dessert.

Daphne flicked her wand and cut the cake, sending the first slice to Draco with a wink. He held back a laugh when Scorpius’s bouncing increased. When a slice finally made its way to him, Scorpius took a huge bite, his cheeks ballooning out as he chewed, not caring that icing now lined his lips.

The conversation was lively as everyone enjoyed the time spent together. Even Draco’s father seemed to be enjoying himself, a rare occurrence for the normally stoic man. 

It had been one of the most enjoyable evenings Draco had had in years.

When the cake had been reduced to mere crumbs and lumps of icing, the party moved to the sitting room. Scorpius sat with his grandparents, enthralling Lucius and Narcissa with tales of his life since he had last seen them a few days ago. Theo and Blaise were pouring themselves a drink and debating the merits of drinking firewhisky with or without ice.

Daphne stood beside Draco on the other side of the room, both watching their family. 

“You look happier today than I’ve seen you in a long time.” She turned her keen blue eyes to him. “I’m glad.”

Draco shrugged. “Today was a good day.”

Looking back towards her husband as he laughed at some quip from Blaise, Daphne nodded. “And how are you doing every other day?”

“I’m fine.”

He could feel her eyes piercing the side of his face. With a resigned sigh, Draco added. “I’m as content as I can be.”

Daphne’s small hand tugged his arm until he turned to meet her eye. “That’s not good enough. You should be more than just content. More than just fine.”

Draco tried to turn away, but Daphne wouldn’t allow it. She looked up at him with a watery smile and spoke softly.

“I know what she made you promise, Draco. She wanted you to be happy. It’s okay to move on. She wanted you to find love again, someone who would love you and Scorpius like you deserve to be loved.”

Draco made a noise of dissent, and Daphne’s expression hardened, her finger poking him rather painfully in his chest.

“Don’t scoff at me. I know you think you weren’t worthy of it once, let alone twice, but I’m here to tell you that you are wrong.” Her face softened and she let out a long breath. 

“I love you like a brother, and you deserve every happiness. I know you think you are content now, but you aren’t happy, not how you could be. Not how you _should_ be. I’m not going to rush you or push you, but please just think about it.” 

She pulled him into a hug and whispered, “You deserve to be blissfully happy, Draco. That’s what Astoria wanted for you.” Daphne gave one last squeeze and smiled at him before turning to join her husband.

Hours later after his guests had left, Draco sat comfortably on the bench in the back garden, his eyes closed as he breathed in the sweet summer air. The first stars were just beginning to peek out as the sky grew darker. 

His thoughts lingered on his talk with Daphne. He knew she was right. He had promised Astoria he wouldn't shut himself away, and he thought he had done a decent job of that the past year and a half since they moved to Ripon, though admittedly he struggled at times. But he had also promised he would try to find love again.

He just didn’t think it possible. Even as he made the promise, Astoria had to drag it out of him. How could he ever love another woman as he had loved his wife? Of course, he understood that each love was different, every relationship unique. And he had to admit there were times he missed the warmth of another body next to his, the feel of a hand on his skin and lips pressed to his.

He knew, deep down, that part of his reluctance was that he was afraid. Afraid to give himself to someone again, afraid to fall hard and fast and deeply. Afraid to lose it all once more.

As he sat deep in thought, Draco did not notice the small figure creeping away from the open window as they moved down the hall to the study, quietly closing the door behind them.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you again to NuclearNik for her impeccable beta skills and to mcal for doing the initial read-through. You ladies are the best support team out there.

* * *

**August 8, 2005**

“So, this is it then.”

“Yeah. I suppose it is.”

The words were hushed, tired, and resigned. 

Final.

Hermione looked at the wizard sitting next to her. Her best friend, her lover, her confidant, her now ex-boyfriend. After all their years together—all their fights, all the yelling, all the passionate reconcilements—it came to this.

What had been an often loud relationship died a quiet death on the faded fabric of her second-hand sofa.

Ron turned and met her gaze, his familiar blue eyes conveying the same contrasting emotions of sorrow and relief that Hermione was sure were reflected in her own.

They had gotten together immediately after the war, crashing together in a mix of elation, mourning, and longing—clinging together amidst the tide of loss and victory, their long-held feelings finally spoken.

But then Hermione returned to Hogwarts and Ron began Auror training. The distance and time apart did not make their hearts grow fonder as the old adage proclaimed. Their relationship stagnated, and they broke up at Christmas.

After Hermione graduated Hogwarts and took a position at the Ministry, the two fell back together, unable to stay away once they were again a part of each other’s daily lives. 

And so it went for the next six years: breaking up and getting back together, only to break up again. They had tried for so long to make it work, to be the couple everyone expected them to be.

They loved each other, Hermione was sure they always would, but they just never seemed to click despite their desire to.

Now, they silently sat side by side as they finally let the dream of them go.

* * *

**February 24, 2006**

Hermione sat in the booth with a heavy sigh. 

“Well, don’t act so happy to see me, Hermione. You’ll give me a complex with your overflowing joy and excitement to spend time with me.”

Hermione leveled an unamused glare at Harry and picked up her menu. “Oh, shut it.”

Quirking an eyebrow and leaning in, Harry asked, “Last night didn’t go well, I take it?”

Resolutely keeping her eyes on the menu, Hermione shrugged. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?”

Ducking her head down a bit more, she nodded. “Yes, fine.”

Sitting up a bit taller, Harry went into his over-protective-brother-who’s-an-Auror mode. “Did he do something? I’m sure I can find a reason to bring him in for questioning.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and finally came out from behind the menu. “No. He didn’t do anything. It was a perfectly fine first and only date. No need to go all,” she waved her hand, gesturing to her best friend, “ _Harry_ on him.” 

Harry blinked and barked out a laugh. “Did you just use my name as a verb? What does that even mean?”

“It means that despite the fact that I am nearly a year older than you and a very capable, independent witch, you can act like some kind of aggressive big brother sometimes. It’s a miracle Jeremy got up the nerve to ask me to dinner with the way you glower at wizards who talk to me.”

Harry gaped at her for a moment, mouth bobbing open and closed. “I—I don’t do that!”

“Yes, you do. Ever since Ron and I broke up last year, it’s like you’ve been waiting for me to break. I’ve told you— _Ron_ has told you—that we are both okay. Yes, finally separating for good hurt, but you can’t argue that we’re not happier for it now.” She reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “I know you care and you're just looking out for me, but I really am okay, Harry. You don’t need to save me.”

Harry huffed and looked away before turning his hand under hers and taking hold of it. He met her eye with a chastised look. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how it was coming across. I was only trying to look out for you.”

Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand. “I know. I appreciate the intent if not the action.” 

With a sigh, Harry rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “Yes, well. I just want you to be happy, Hermione. I love you. You’re my family and I want your life to be filled with joy like mine is. I know you say you're fine and that you’re happy, but you deserve more than that. You deserve to be loved and adored by someone who will brighten your day with just a smile, someone who will make you feel like the most important person in their world. I can’t really explain my relationship with Ginny in words, but my life is infinitely better because she’s in it. I want that for you.”

Blinking back tears, Hermione sniffed. “Oh, Harry. That’s a lovely thought, but… I doubt anyone can have the same love as you and Ginny. Your romance is the stuff of legend. I’m surprised sonnets haven’t been penned about it. Or a made for TV movie.” She chuckled. “I’ll call myself lucky if I ever have a fraction of what you two have.”

She smiled at her best friend, the man that she had come to love as a brother. Her heart was full with the knowledge that no matter what, Harry would always be there for her.

Harry opened his mouth to reply when his stomach loudly made its hunger known. He smiled sheepishly at her with a shrug. “Sorry, had a light breakfast.”

Hermione grinned cheekily at him as she sat back and picked up her menu once more. “Well, we best order soon before someone complains of growling and the staff starts hunting for a rogue animal loose in the restaurant.”

Harry snorted and opened his menu.

* * *

**November 11, 2007**

The Burrow was as busy and loud as ever. Large dishes of food were being passed from person to person and multiple conversations were happening at once, one even yelled from opposite ends of the table.

Hermione quietly ate from her place in the middle tucked between Harry and George, across from Ron. 

And his new girlfriend.

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she watched Debra or Darby or whatever her name was feed Ron a forkful of pork roast. It wasn’t that she begrudged Ron his new relationship. In fact, she hoped he was happy. It took nearly half a year, but they had finally regained the friendship they had before dating. She no longer harbored any romantic feelings towards him.

She just didn’t need to see the sickeningly sweet couple cooing over each other as she ate.

Harry caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and they both suppressed laughter. This was not the first new girlfriend Ron had brought to Sunday dinner, but this was the first who rivaled his teen romance with Lav-Lav.

Though, Lavender would be much preferable to Dorothy. She had matured and become a well-spoken, thoughtful witch. In fact, Hermione enjoyed a renewed friendship with her former dormmate, and they met for tea once a month.

The clinking of metal against glass drew Hermione’s attention away from Dana and her attempt to now feed Ron by hand.

Harry stood up beside her and cleared his throat, Ginny’s hand firmly in his. “We have an announcement.” A wide grin spread across his face. “We are expecting baby Potter number three in June!”

A roar of excited cheers and well wishes rang out as everyone jumped to their feet, ready to embrace the couple. Hermione sat a few seconds longer than the rest, her stomach clenching at the news.

Her first thoughts should have been excitement and joy. Not the profound feeling of loneliness that swept over her.

Baby number three. Harry and Ginny were becoming a family of five while Hermione was still alone, with no change to her status in sight. Her eyes swept over her friends gathered around the table, each of them happily dating or married. Even Charlie, who was a confirmed bachelor for as long as she’d known him, was finally in a relationship with a fellow dragon tamer. 

Even Ron, who changed his partner at least monthly, had a steady stream of love interests.

Yet Hermione remained single. She dated occasionally, but nothing ever lasted. Some didn’t even last past the first date. 

Shaking herself from these thoughts, Hermione stood and pulled Harry from Molly’s bone-crushing embrace to squeeze him tightly herself. “I’m so happy for you and Ginny!” 

And she was. She was ecstatic for them. She knew they both wanted at least one more child, hopefully a girl. Hermione shoved her own feelings aside and spent the rest of the evening celebrating new life with her friends and family.

* * *

**July 18, 2008**

“Yes, Mum, I’m doing fine.” Hermione paced as she spoke, the phone receiver pressed between her shoulder and ear.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone new…” She ran a hand through her curls.

“I’m only twenty-eight. Not quite old maid status yet… No, I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

Hermione paused her pacing and held in a sigh. “It’s fine.” Wanting to talk about anything else but her perpetual singleness, Hermione asked, “How are you and Dad doing? Did he find that book he was looking for?”

Thankfully, the rest of the conversation stayed away from her love life, and Hermione enjoyed the remainder of the call with her mum.

Despite her reluctance to talk about it, Hermione understood that her mum just wanted her to be happy. Beatrice Granger wanted her daughter to find the same love she had with her husband. 

They never said it, but Hermione knew both her parents dreamed of being grandparents one day. They wanted a little one to spoil and dote on, but Hermione just didn’t see that happening anytime soon. Maybe ever.

Since the announcement of the newest little Potter, and especially since her arrival a month ago, Hermione had been feeling the pressure of being the only single friend in their group. Nights out felt awkward with her being the only person not paired off. 

There had been that one night they all met at the Leaky for drinks after work, and Ron had arrived alone too. He had just broken up with Darlene, as Hermione finally learned was her name, and was currently single. Though Hermione did not think that would last long with the way he had been eying the witches at the bar that night.

She had been right. Still, it had been nice to have him there as a fellow singleton for a few hours.

So, she sat with her friends as they held hands and whispered to each other in between sweet kisses while Hermione resolutely ignored it all, wondering again why she always agreed to go out with them.

The few dates she did manage to have never got to the "meeting friends" stage. They were all nice, good looking men, and she generally enjoyed her evening with them. But the relationships just didn’t last beyond a casual date or two.

Something just always seemed to be missing.

Hermione sighed and plopped down on her sofa next to Crookshanks. She ran her hand through his soft fur, eliciting a contented purr.

“It’s just you and me, Crooks. Not a bad life, is it?”

Blinking his intelligent eyes at her, Crookshanks moved to curl up in her lap. At least she had this.

* * *

**December 6, 2009**

Hermione sneezed as a layer of dust from the box she was moving billowed up at her.

“Bless you,” came the muffled reply from her mother who was digging through a trunk across the attic.

“Are you sure it’s up here, Mum?” Hermione asked as she wiggled her nose, trying to stave off another sneeze.

“Yes, yes. I’m—ah ha! Here it is. I told you I saved it.”

Hermione turned and saw her mother holding up a bundle of red and white, waving it at her with a triumphant grin. With a shake of her head and an indulgent smile, Hermione put down the box and joined her mother beside the old armoire, wiping her hands on her jeans as she went.

They had been hunting for the custom-made Santa costume Hermione’s father used to wear when she was a child, wanting to donate it to a children’s home they volunteered at.

Beatrice shoved the Santa hat into Hermione’s hands and continued to dig through the garment bags to find the remaining pieces.

“Oh, Hermione. Look!” Beatrice pulled out a long, white satin dress. “My wedding gown. Do you remember when you used to dress up in it? You looked so darling.”

Hermione ran a hand fondly over the sleeve. “I do. I used to love to play dress up and pretend I was a princess or a warrior, and then it usually turned into me being a warrior princess with swords who wore pretty dresses to battle.”

Her mother turned to her with a sparkle in her eye. “You should put it on. For old times’ sake.”

“I don’t know. I doubt it would fit me—” 

“Oh, pish posh. It’ll fit you just fine. Now, come on. Put it on.”

Knowing there was no arguing with her, Hermione complied. 

Slipping the cool satin over her skin brought back happy memories of tea parties and sword fights and giggling with her mum on warm summer afternoons.

Turning to allow Beatrice to fasten up the back, Hermione looked at herself in the mirror of the armoire, her breath catching for just a moment.

The gown she was so familiar with looked so different on her now. It was snug in all the right places, loose where it needed to be comfortable. It fit her so well and made her feel beautiful.

Beatrice met her eye in the mirror as she looked over Hermione’s shoulder, and a soft gasp left her lips. “Oh, my sweet girl, look at you. You look absolutely gorgeous.” She ran her hands down her daughter's arms and squeezed.

“It fits you better than it did me on my wedding day.” She smiled dreamily and sighed. “Seems like only yesterday I was walking down that aisle towards your father, so excited and nervous. Ready to start our lives together.”

She reached into the armoire and pulled out the matching veil, then set to work on arranging it in Hermione’s curls.

“I’m sure I’ve told you this story before, but I don’t care.” Letting out a merry laugh, Beatrice winked at Hermione. “I met my Henry at uni, you know. Freshman year. I had every intention of studying hard, getting my degree so I could start my own practice. I had no time for boys or romance. And then I met your dad. He swept me off my feet before I even knew what was happening.”

Hermione knew the story well, but she had always loved to hear it. It was a common bedtime story when she was little. “He stole your heart right away.”

“Yes. Such a simple thing. I dropped my book, and he reached down to pick it up the same time as I did and our hands touched. I looked into his eyes and it was like… Well, magic.”

The two women giggled at the irony. “Of course, I had no idea magic was real at the time. But meeting him eventually gave us you, so I don’t think I’m too far off in my use of the word.”

Veil now in place, Beatrice stepped back and beamed at her daughter. “Darling, you look a picture.”

Hermione focused once more on her reflection, taking in the white gown and veil. She looked every inch a bride. Daydreams of walking down an aisle to a tall and handsome man flashed through her mind before a dreadful thought hit her.

What if this was the only time she would be wearing a wedding gown? What if she never found that _magic_ her mum mentioned? That pull toward another person.

Maybe she had missed her chance. There had been men who had seemed interested, even asked to spend more time with her, but she had declined because she did not return their interest. Maybe that had been a mistake.

What if she was destined to be alone?

Shaking herself of those depressing thoughts, Hermione tried to focus on the positive. Maybe she wasn’t destined to have a grand love like her parents or Harry and Ginny. Not everyone was.

Maybe she was destined for a quiet love. One she could be content with. One that may not cause her heart to race or her stomach flutter but was comfortable.

It may not be the kind of love she dreamed about, the kind her deeply hidden inner romantic longed for. But that was okay.

She could be content with okay.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione made a promise to herself. One day, she’d wear this dress at her own wedding and it would be just as beautiful and wonderful as she had imagined as a little girl.

She just needed to find someone she could be content with. Who was she to be picky when spinsterhood was looming?

Hermione smiled at her mum as she talked more about her early relationship with her father and set it in her mind to accept the next man interested in her. 

Who knew? Maybe he’ll be the one.

* * *

**July 24, 2010**

In retrospect, dating the next man who asked was not Hermione’s most brilliant idea.

Because she ended up dating Cormac McClaggen.

For five months.

She only had herself and too much eggnog at the Ministry Christmas party to blame.

She had been caught unawares under an enchanted mistletoe with Cormac, and he seized the opportunity to snog her senseless for the remainder of the evening... and well into the next morning.

He asked her to dinner the following night and Hermione had agreed. One date turned into two and before she knew it, Cormac was proudly calling her his girlfriend to all who would listen.

She had been surprised at how different Cormac was now compared to the teenage boy who was a bit too eager during their one date back in Hogwarts. 

He was much more humble now, though his arrogance did shine through on occasion, which she found to be quite attractive. He knew what he wanted and he went for it but without the overly-cocky attitude he had before.

They actually got along, and Hermione enjoyed spending time with him.

The only problem was that Cormac had absolutely no interest in committing to her long term. 

He enjoyed the status dating one of the Golden Trio afforded him and while Hermione did believe he cared for her in a way, it was not love. It was more like she was a prize he had finally won. He was proud of her, proud to be with her, but his feelings did not go much beyond that.

Yet Hermione stuck it out, thinking love might come in time. She didn’t love him either but thought that one day, maybe she could. 

Then she found out that Cormac had been using their relationship for political leverage, using her name to further his agendas with no regard for her or her opinions on them. He had never really cared for her at all beyond what she could do for him.

Hermione had been livid when she found out. Angry and betrayed and yet, relieved. She thought she would be heartbroken, but found that her heart hadn’t really been in the relationship either.

So after a few choice words and a rather potent stinging hex, Hermione had packed up the last of Cormac’s things and unceremoniously tossed them out her front door, Cormac quickly following.

She felt lighter once he was out of her life. If men like him were all that were left, maybe being alone wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

**March 9, 2011**

“Excuse me, but I believe you got my order by mistake.”

Hermione looked up at the man standing beside her table in the Ministry canteen. “I’m sorry?”

He gestured to her tray with the matching one in his hands. “I think our orders got mixed up. I ordered a turkey sandwich with no cheese but got a ham with no cheese instead.”

“Oh! Yes, that’s mine. I’m so sorry. Here.” She grabbed the tray from him and set it beside hers. 

Intending to hand him the other tray, Hermione reached for it the same time he did and their hands met. 

And Hermione felt a spark.

Gasping softly, she looked up the wizard, her eyes taking a quick inventory.

He was handsome in an understated way. He had that clean-cut look—sandy brown hair that was neatly styled, fitted grey business robes with nary a wrinkle, perfectly shined shoes. His lips were thin and his nose just a touch too big for his face. While he may not be the type of man witches drooled over, he had a friendly face that Hermione instantly liked.

She looked up into his eyes. They were hazel, warm and inviting. And they were crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her. 

She began to return the smile when he cleared his throat and looked down.

Realizing her hands were still wrapped around the tray, Hermione let go and jerked them into her lap. “I—I’m sorry.”

The man chuckled. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He moved the tray to one hand and extended the other. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lawrence Pushman.”

Smiling, Hermione shook his hand. “Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you.”

“Indeed, it’s a pleasure.” Lawrence looked around the crowded cantina, eyes scanning for an empty table. “Would you mind if I joined you? Seems everyone decided on lunch here today.”

“Oh, of course not!” Hermione hurried to clear her bag and the book she had intended to read, setting them on the chair beside her.

Lawrence bowed his head in thanks and took a seat across from her.

They smiled shyly at each other for a moment before Hermione decided to take a chance. This man interested her, and she wanted to get to know a bit more about him. In hopes of breaking the ice with a safe topic, she asked Lawrence what department he worked in.

Their conversation lasted the entirety of her lunch break. She learned that Lawrence worked in accounting, was a fan of classical music, had no pets, and enjoyed the occasional weekend in the country.

They left the cantina together and just as they were about to part, Lawrence asked her to dinner.

Hermione said yes.

* * *

**June 5, 2011**

A warm breeze caught the sheer curtains of the open window, causing them to billow into the room as soft music filled the air from the radio on a nearby side table.

The single occupant of the room swayed to the melody, the broom in her hands her sole dance partner.

Hermione sighed as the song ended and continued with her task. She had a routine; each Sunday after she returned from spending the day at the Burrow, she cleaned her flat. 

She had a routine for that too. Dust with magic, sweep by hand, reshelve any books left strewn about the flat, wash any dirty dishes with a charm, do laundry.

Actually, she had a routine for every day.

Harry teased her for it, but Hermione liked her routine. It gave her a sense of comfort she couldn’t explain to him. She wasn’t rigid with it; she could change it up if she wanted to.

She just rarely wanted to.

In school, she had a schedule to help her stay on top of her studies. After she graduated and started working, she had a schedule to make sure she completed all of her duties in a timely manner. Then there were the weekly dinners with the Weasleys, the monthly get together with friends. The longer she lived alone, the more she relied on and settled into her set daily routine.

She’d had the same routine for the last few years, though recently she had tweaked it slightly. Now, she had Tuesday lunches and Friday nights set aside for Lawrence Pushman. 

That first dinner had turned into two and now they were exclusively dating. Hermione enjoyed her time with him, their conversations often lasting hours. Of course, there were times the topics were a bit dry, and Hermione had no real interest in accounting, but she was willing to discuss it with him nonetheless. 

Things were going well in their relationship so far. He was kind and polite, the perfect gentleman. He always opened doors for her and pulled out her chair, made sure to help her into and out of her cloaks and jackets. 

They had not quite moved beyond chaste kisses and hand-holding. Lawrence always pulling away before things became too heated. Not that Hermione minded moving slow, but there were times she wished he would loosen up a bit, not be so formal and proper.

Any witch enjoyed a thorough snogging now and again, after all.

Still, she had felt confident enough in their relationship to introduce him to her friends. The evening had gone well, if a bit more subdued than their normal get-togethers. Hermione could tell her friends liked Lawrence well enough, despite the lack of common interests. He was more into the theater than Quidditch, a fact that they could not seem to get over. Hermione politely reminded them that she happened to enjoy it as well.

Hermione could admit, however, that while Lawrence was perfect on paper, he could be a bit… Well, boring. Despite her love of academia and interest in a wide range of topics, there were times that her eyes glazed over and she struggled to pay attention to his rather long-winded and dry commentaries.

Yet, she continued to see him. He was a good man and had the potential to be a loyal and reliable partner. Hermione knew that he could easily be her last chance at marriage and a family. Her last chance to not be alone for the rest of her days. 

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Hermione went back to her task, running the broom along the baseboard.

The song on the wireless faded and a voice announced that next up was a two-hour tribute to polka. Hermione wrinkled her nose and snapped her fingers to change the station. She flipped through several, passing the ad for Sleekeazy’s and the announcement of a Weird Sisters reunion tour, but pausing on the ad for MagiTech’s new product.

Two years after the war, Dean Thomas had announced his new business, specializing in converting Muggle technology to work around magic. It had started small, simply a charm that strengthened the wireless signal and allowed the magical community in Britain to listen to wizarding broadcasts around the world.

MagiTech took off and Dean soon had new products coming out quarterly, the most popular being the introduction of the telephone.

Hermione smiled at the success of her friend. She was honored when he had reached out to her as he was starting his business, asking her opinion on future products to test and advice on a charm gone wrong. She still helped him out occasionally, and she enjoyed working through the problem with him.

The cheery jingle written by Dean’s musically talented sister that always got stuck in Hermione’s head signaled the end of the ad, and an annoyingly familiar voice filled the air.

“I’m Rita Skeeter and you’re listening to The Buzz.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and made to change the station again when there was a crash and a yowl from another room. She darted into the kitchen and found her familiar sitting without a care in the world next to what had been a vase given to her by Ron’s Aunt Muriel, back when they were still dating.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione groaned in frustration. 

The orange kneazle simply looked at her and swished his tail. He had never liked the vase and had taken to knocking it off every surface he found it upon. Hermione couldn’t really blame him.

It was a hideous vase, but one she felt compelled to keep. However, it seemed to have been broken just one too many times after this latest incident as the pieces simply refused to join together again.

Hermione vanished the mess with a silent apology to Aunt Muriel and took a moment to scratch Crookshanks under his chin. She couldn’t really be mad at him for ridding them of the eyesore, after all.

One last pet to his head and Hermione returned to her task. Entering the room with the intention of turning off the radio, she paused with her hand raised when she heard a child’s determined voice.

“No, it’s for my dad. He needs a new wife.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to NuclearNik and mcal for their constant support and alpha/beta skills. I adore you both.

* * *

**June 5, 2011 - continued**

Scorpius peeked out of the window, watching his dad staring into the night sky, thinking about what he had overheard Aunt Daphne say earlier that night. 

She was right. His dad wasn’t happy. But he deserved to be, and Scorpius would do what he had to in order to make that happen. 

He had a plan after all.

He snuck down the hall to his dad’s study and quietly slipped inside. Tiptoeing over to the telephone on the large desk, Scorpius dug a scrap of parchment out of his pocket and dialed.

Moments later, a friendly voice answered. “Hello, thank you for calling The Buzz with Rita Skeeter, Sunday Night Dreams edition. Please provide your name and contact information.”

Scorpius hesitated for a moment, looking over his shoulder at the closed door. He knew he wasn’t supposed to give that out, but this was for his dad. 

He stuttered out the information and was asked to hold for a moment. He nervously swallowed and wound the phone cord around his finger while he waited.

“Welcome, caller. You’re on the air with Rita Skeeter.”

His nerves overtaking him, Scorpius almost hung up but forced himself to say, “H-hi. My name is—” 

“No names, dear. Now, what is your wish tonight?”

“Oh, um… It’s…”

“A new broom? Travel the world? What does your heart desire? Tell Rita what you want, dear.”

“It’s not for me.”

“No?”

Standing taller and gathering all his courage, Scorpius answered, “No, it’s for my dad. He needs a new wife.” 

* * *

  
  


Hermione grinned at the determined answer that crackled through the wireless, the caller so sure of what he wanted.

She held back a laugh at Rita’s momentary sputter, relishing a bit in the woman’s surprise. 

Rita cleared her throat and replied, “A new wife? Are you not happy with the one he has now?”

“He doesn’t have a wife right now. But I think he needs one.”

“Where’s your mum?” 

Hermione snorted at the question. How invasive. The little beetle still had to know everything, but Hermione smiled knowing that at least the wizarding world now knew of her little trick, and Rita was no longer buzzing about where she ought not.

But the smile fell from her lips when she heard the young voice sadly say, “My mum died a couple of years ago.”

Hermione’s heart ached for the child, who sounded no older than seven or eight. To lose a parent so young, she couldn’t imagine.

Without thinking, she sank into her favorite armchair and listened, completely drawn in by the conversation.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Hermione was slightly surprised to hear a tone of genuine sympathy in Rita’s words. Maybe the beetle had a heart after all.

“Thank you. I miss her very much, and I’m sad sometimes, but my dad is worse.”

In the most gentle tone Hermione had ever heard Rita use, she asked, “Have you tried to talk to your father about this?”

“Not really. Talking about mum makes him sadder, and I don’t want him to be sadder. I want him to be happy again. Like he used to be.”

“You must love him very much.”

“I do. That’s why I called. Today is his birthday and it’s my wish for him to be happy.”

“Dear, is your father home right now? Does he know you’ve called in?”

A pause. “No, he doesn’t. He’s in the back garden.”

“Well my dear, I think I can help, but I’ll need your assistance. Can you get your dad on the phone?”

Hermione glowered at the radio. Rita was such a wretched witch! How dare she lead that poor child on? “Don’t listen to that sneaky little woman!”

“I-I don’t know. He’d be so angry with me!”

“Oh, I doubt that he’d be upset once he hears how concerned you are for him. Trust me.”

A loud sigh came over the air. “Okay, but if I get in trouble I’m telling everyone it’s your fault.”

Hermione giggled. This kid had spunk, and she found him utterly delightful.

* * *

Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head bowed. He was debating a cup of tea when Scorpius yelled for him.

“You’re needed on the phone, Dad!”

Groaning slightly as he stood, Draco made his way back into the house and down the hall to the study.

Once again, he thought how glad he was of the ability to have conversations on the telephone seated in a comfortable chair rather than kneeling on hard floors to make a Floo call. 

It was common for most wizarding households to now have a telephone. Dean Thomas had developed a way for the communication devices to work around magic. Draco knew Muggles now mostly used small, handheld phones they called mobiles, but those often fritzed when exposed to magic. 

The phone in their home was an old rotary style, not used by Muggles in decades. Draco had read up on telephones when Thomas announced his product, having developed a keen interest in Muggle technology. He had been so impressed with the work Thomas was doing with his company MagiTech that Draco had approached him and offered to be a silent partner for the new business. It had turned out to be a great move as the company was now extremely successful, and Draco was often one of the first to receive new products before they released to the public.

Stepping into the study, Draco found Scorpius standing by his desk, telephone cord wrapped around him with a familiar look on his face. His son had done something and was feeling guilty. Draco narrowed his eyes and asked, “Scorpius, who’s on the phone?”

His son paled and shook his head, stiffly holding out the receiver to him.

With a sigh, Draco took it and unwound the cord from around his son. “Hello?”

“Hello, this is Rita Skeeter. Your son called into my radio show, The Buzz.”

Draco’s head snapped up, his eyes wide as he looked at his son who was currently trying to hide behind the desk. “Oh, he did, did he?”

Unphased by his less than friendly tone, Rita trudged on. “Yes. He asked me to help and I’d like to do that, if I can.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Draco ground out, “And just what did he ask you to help with?”

“He asked me to help find you a new wife.”

The air rushed out of his lungs, and his mind blanked. Scorpius did what? His eyes fixed on his son’s, and he could see the hope mixed with the guilt and fear of being punished. Draco shook his head and pulled the receiver from his mouth to whisper, “You called  _ Rita Skeeter _ ?”

Scorpius slunk further behind the desk with a reluctant nod.

“Hello?” Rita’s voice called. “Are you still there?”

“Y-yes.” Draco cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m still here.”

“Your son called because he is worried about you. He told me about your wife’s passing and that since then you have been very unhappy.”

Draco frowned and looked again at Scorpius. He beckoned him over with a mouthed "Come here." When he had shuffled close enough, Draco gently steered him towards the sofa and leaned down to whisper, “Sit. If I have to go through this, you’re doing it with me.”

He grabbed the base of the phone and brought it over with him, sitting down next to Scorpius.

Rita was still rambling on, something about talking about his wife with her so Scorpius would feel better about it.

“I don’t think—” Draco began when Rita cut in. 

“It’s his birthday wish for you.”

Scorpius whispered, “Please, Dad. Talk to her.”

Looking into his son’s pleading eyes, Draco couldn’t find it in himself to say no.

* * *

  
  


Hermione sat riveted. The voice of the boy’s father sounded so familiar as if she had heard it before, but she couldn’t think of who it could be. Maybe someone from her school days or one of the countless people she had met after the war.

It sounded aristocratic, refined. A thought niggled in her brain but she dismissed it. It couldn’t be him. Besides, she knew that voices sounded different over the wireless than in person.

Hermione listened as Rita asked how long ago his wife had died—such a nosy question—and felt her heart ache at his toneless reply of, “Just over two years ago.” 

She shook her head when Rita then asked if he had dated since and then dared to ask why not when he replied in the negative.

“Ms. Skeeter—” 

“Rita, darling. If you please.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the woman’s audacity and then smirked when the caller replied, “Mhmm.  _ Ms. Skeeter _ . I don’t want to come across as rude—”

“Oh, and I don’t want to pry into your personal life.”

Scoffing, Hermione muttered, “Of course, you do,” and startled when she heard the same words echoed by the caller. She grinned and found herself leaning forward in anticipation of his next words.

A low sigh sounded. “I will admit we… It was hard, at first. But we’re working on it. Together. We’ll be fine.”

Hermione was certain she heard a mumbled, “Peachy even, after I toss out the wireless,” and she huffed a quiet laugh.

* * *

  
  


Draco quirked an eyebrow at Scorpius before pointedly eyeing the offending object innocently sitting on the shelf behind his desk.

Rita broke in. “I’m certain you are an incredible father, but there must still be something if your son feels that you are so unhappy he called to make a wish for you. I would like to ask you a few questions.” She paused for a moment. “Are you sleeping?”

Draco opened his mouth, hesitant to answer when Scorpius helpfully called out, “No, he isn’t.”

Shocked, Draco looked down at his son. “How…”

Scorpius shrugged. “I live here, too.”

Feeling put on the spot, Draco struggled to find the words to explain. “I mean, I do… I sleep. I just…” Sighing in frustration, he sagged further into the sofa. “I get… restless. At night. During the day, I can focus on work, on my son, but at night is when I remember.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “At night is when I miss her most. Because for years, she was always there with me,  _ for me _ , in the dark. No matter what. She made everything brighter.”

He cleared his throat and wrapped his arm around Scorpius, pulling him closer. “And it’s hard being a single parent. I’m doing my best but every child needs a mother.”

Once again, Rita cut in. “Don’t you think you need someone just as much as your son does?”

* * *

In the silence that stretched after Rita’s question, Hermione whispered, “Yes.”

Then Rita was talking again, announcing a commercial break and saying, “We’ll be right back to speak more with Restless in Ripon.”

Hermione shook herself from her daze, surprised to find unshed tears clinging to her lashes. She huffed as she stood, berating herself for getting so caught up in some stranger from a city halfway across the country.

She went back to her cleaning routine, fully intending to change the station and not continuing to listen to the man who intrigued her. 

She finished sweeping and put away her broom and dustbin, waving her wand to make the few books sitting about the flat fly into their spots on the bookshelf. Seeing there were no dirty dishes, Hermione gathered her laundry to put in the wash.

The wireless continued to play in the background, people from all parts of Wizarding Britain calling in with advice or comments regarding  _ Restless in Ripon _ and his situation. Hermione rolled her eyes at the women asking for his phone number and blatantly flirting.

She made herself a cup of tea and wandered through her flat, eventually giving in and settling back into her chair. The fact that the wireless was still on and that  _ Restless _ was once again speaking had nothing to do with it.

Nothing at all.

* * *

  
  


Draco had managed to sit through the inane callers sharing their unwanted advice and the awkwardness of a few very confident women before Rita addressed him again.

Scorpius was now laying on the sofa with his head in Draco’s lap, having fallen asleep fifteen minutes prior. Draco ran his hands through the soft locks of his hair, some still as fine as when he was a baby.

“I must ask you, Restless. You’ve loved once. Do you think you could ever love someone again?”

Draco took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“Have you ever loved someone other than your wife?”

He was thrown by the question and answered before thinking. “There was someone once. Someone I thought… But the situation was impossible and could never be.”

Rita hummed. “What will you do now?”

Leaning his head against the back of the sofa, Draco sighed. “Well, I’m going to do as I’ve done every day since she passed. I’m going to wake up, take care of my son, and try to live as if my heart hasn’t been shattered beyond repair. I’m going to go to work and come home and spend time with my family and just do my best to live. To live like she wanted me to.”

In a soft voice he didn’t think her capable of, Rita asked, “Can you tell me about your wife?”

Normally, Draco would shut down at this question. But something about talking through this was freeing, and the words left him in a steady trickle that became a rushing stream like a dam had been opened. 

He closed his eyes and pictured Astoria’s face smiling at him.

“My wife was like the light at the end of a very long, very dark path that I had never wanted to travel but found myself lost on. She brought a peace and contentment I had never known. I had never paid much attention to her when we were younger. I was friends with her older sister, but she was just there in the background. We met again soon after the war. I was in a bad place, lost and floundering in life. And then there she was, full of brightness and joy. I was drawn to her.

“I don’t know if I believe in fate, in destiny, but if I did… It was her. Meeting her, falling in love with her. It was all so easy. The easiest thing I had ever done. I lived a life with her I never thought possible. It all happened so quickly, a whirlwind romance they called it. Everything fell into place and it was like… Like we were meant to be.

“And I knew. The moment I took her hand and looked into her eyes, I knew I had found what I had been looking for. Which sounds barmy when up until that moment I didn’t know I  _ had _ been looking. But I found it. In her. And it was just… Something in me called to her. Something like…”

* * *

  
  


“Magic…” 

Hermione breathed the word, knowing that the wizard had felt the same thing her parents had, that Harry had. That undefinable thing that draws you to another person. Despite being a witch, the only word Hermione could think of to capture it was  _ magic _ .

That feeling that she'd never had, but always secretly longed for. The closest had been… No, she wouldn’t dwell on that again. It was never anything and whatever small  _ nothing _ there had been was years ago and long dead.

She sniffed and felt a tear slowly trail down her face. She swatted it away, annoyed that she was so affected.

Another tear joined the first, and Hermione found herself sobbing, her heart breaking for this man and the love he had lost. 

She cried for the loss of a life so young, for a son having to grow up without his mother, for the broken little family.

She cried for her own unyielding sense of loneliness, a deep yearning for a love like this man had shared with his wife overtaking her. She felt a connection to this nameless wizard, a need to comfort him and console him. A need to know more about him.

She cried for the fear she lived with that she would end up alone; unwanted and unloved. Old Aunt Hermione and her twelve cats.

She had been on a few dates with Lawrence, yes, but she already knew that if anything more came of their relationship it would pale in comparison to those around her. 

It was missing that spark that she used to daydream about while lying on her four-poster in Gryffindor tower. She thought she would find it with Ron, but it just never happened, no matter how hard she tried.

And now here was this faceless man, this voice on the wireless, that made her long for the possibility once again. Something about him made her feel like maybe it  _ could _ happen to her. Maybe she could allow herself that dream again.

Maybe, just maybe, she could hope.

* * *

  
  


Draco hung up the phone, careful not to jostle Scorpius. He felt tired. Drained, yet lighter than he had been in a long time.

He looked down at the sleeping face of his son, eyes moving behind his lids as he dreamed. His initial reaction to the surprise call had been anger and frustration, a touch of embarrassment. It was no one else’s business how he had been dealing with Astoria’s death. They were fine. He was  _ fine _ .

Draco had to admit though that talking about it as he had, even to someone like Rita Skeeter, had been cathartic. He rarely spoke of his wife to anyone outside of the family, the words too painful to say. They always wanted to know the  _ how _ and the  _ why _ , as if they had any right to those things.

It had been a blood curse, one cast on an ancient ancestor that had not appeared in generations. The family thought it was gone, cured, or perhaps had run its course. But it had stricken his wife three years after she had given birth to their son.

Draco had been beside himself when they were given the diagnosis, refusing to believe that there was no way to stop it. He had called in every expert, curse-breaker, and healer he could find, but it didn’t matter. His wife had slowly slipped away from him, no matter how hard he fought to keep her with him.

He wanted to laugh at the irony that once again blood had taken a piece of him, first with the war and then with his wife. The  _ pure _ blood that his father had touted as being superior to all others, what made them special and elite, was a lie. 

All blood was the same sickening shade of red. All blood relentlessly stained the floors, and all blood caused Draco’s stomach to churn and acid to burn in his throat. It didn’t matter whose blood it was—Muggle, Muggle-born, half-blood, or pure-blood—it was all the same. Every drop.

Draco's blood kept him from experiencing Hogwarts as he should have. Instead of learning from those with different backgrounds and cultures, he’d been forced to keep his distance and only show disdain for them. His friends had to be the same as him, pure and rich and spoiled.

It didn’t matter that a Muggle-born girl constantly proved time and again that blood didn’t matter, that she was just as powerful and oftentimes more so than her peers. It didn’t matter that a half-blood boy defied, fought, and won against pure-bloods decades older than him over and over and over.

No. Only his status, his name, and his blood had mattered.

Until it didn’t. 

Until he finally came to realize that everything he had been taught was rubbish. His pure blood could not save him from a megalomaniac hell-bent on making him pay for his father’s failings. 

And his wife’s pure blood could not save her from an ancient curse.

Draco thanked Merlin and the Founders daily that he was able to raise Scorpius without the bigoted and prejudiced beliefs that had been forced on him as a child. 

Astoria had been adamant that the cycle would stop with them, that Scorpius would never learn to look down on others, but instead that he would be taught to be kind and respectful and humble, that he would never use hateful slurs, and that he would be allowed to make friends with whomever he wished.

That was important to Draco, too. He often wondered how different things could have been if he had not been such a haughty, snot-nosed little brat when he first introduced himself to Potter. Could they have been friends? Could he have gotten to know the others and become part of the group? 

Could he have found a way to protect his family without being branded?

Draco sighed and dropped his head back against the headrest of the sofa. It was useless to wonder such things. It was in the past and he couldn’t change it now. He could only move forward, as Astoria had often told him.

He closed his eyes and could picture her with that gentle smile that was  _ his _ . The one she bestowed upon him when it was just the two of them, the one that made him feel like he could move mountains and conquer anything that came his way. 

He could hear her softly telling him that it was okay. It was time for him to let go and live.

Draco knew she was right. 

It was time.

  
  
  
  



End file.
